I hope you are all doing well in this quarantine. Trigger warning for gore, torture and violence. Harry Potter characters do not belong to me.
"Survival is the final offer
that arrives at the eleventh hour
just when pain to the tenth power
would kill you with another ninth degree."
Count Down/Robin Morgan
The first thing Hermione sees upon awakening is the enveloping darkness that surrounds her. She doesn't know how long she has remained unconscious, but it could be days by now. The last memory she has was the easiness with which Bellatrix's bony hand grabbed her out of Ron's embrace and the look of horror in his eyes; Ron knew Hermione's new fate as well as he knew wizards chess.
A few days before they departed on the horocrux hunt, Ron, Harry and her had been talking about possible hiding places of Voldemort's fragmented soul when out of nowhere the protective wards of the Burrow were breached. Immediately, Molly had started screaming commands to draw out wands and to protect Harry at all costs; but as quickly as the sudden invasion had happened it ceased. The only proof that it had occurred was a figure covered in a black cloth that was laying on the ground, just few steps away from the house entrance. Ginny went running and uncovered the motionless figure. As soon as the black cloth was removed a shrilling scream came out of her mouth. Laying there was Arthur Weasley, in his dusty brown muggle suit and with a chrysanthemum tucked in his chest pocket.
In that moment Hermione remembered her grandfather's funeral. There had been a lot of flower arrangements filled with those white petal flowers, and her mother had told her that chrysanthemums were the symbol of death. But Arthur Weasley not only looked dead, he looked like a deformed puppet; where his eyes had once been, now a gaping hole took their place. A crooked smile that didn't resembled his once cheerful semblance was charmed to stay put; he had no teeth but sharp glass fragments embedded in his gums. The skin from his nails up to his arms was ripped and hanging; green purulence was coming out of his injuries. And his distinctive red hair covered only a few patches of skull. The bald spots were opened and spilling the remains of his brain. The physical deterioration of his body was clear but if Hermione tried enough, the remains of dark magic could still be sensed. Right above his left cheek a scarlet wound in the shape of a B was carved. It stood for Bellatrix Lestrange.
After that Ron never slept more than three hours a day, Molly's cheery eyes became empty. Ginny, Fred and George started discussing ways to avenge their father. And Harry and Hermione stood distant and watchful, learning how far war would got.
Hence why, the moment Hermione fell in Bellatrix's clutches and Ron disappeared in the crack of apparition, they both knew she would not have a quick Avada Kedavra thrown her way but instead a far more excruciating death.
Within the darkness that surrounds her, she can get a hold of a mushy and foul smell. It smells like metal and rotten meat. Beneath her is a stone floor, cold and wet. She checks the pockets of her trousers and finds that her wand is missing. No surprise there. Surely they wouldn't be so stupid as to leave her in the possession of the one thing that makes her a witch. No. A wand does not make her a witch. The pure power that runs in her veins is the source of her magic. A wand only is the media that helps a wizard conduct the power of his magic properly. She needs to think, but the pounding in her head is almost unbearable. Think think think. She must be in a room in the dungeon. The air is still and trapped.
She starts crawling around the room. She stops when her hands reach a puddle of unknown liquid. She brings her hands to her face and smells. It is blood mixed with urine. Maybe it's hers. She reaches further until a new surface touches her fingers. There are irregular borders, and on further inspection there's a hole that contains a gooey mass. She examines the substance. And then she realizes just what it is. It can't be. But everything starts falling into place; the smell, the puddle, the inconsistency of the surface. Lying in front of her is a carcass of a human body.
The way it is open could maybe resemble an autopsy. A crude, barbaric and inexperienced one, but a dissection nevertheless. Who is this person? How long has he been here?. I will sure end up like him. But Bellatrix wants to play first. Harry Potter's Mudblood is a gift she must preserve. When will that be anyway?. It could be days, weeks or months before Hermione meets death. She feels exhausted, helpless.
Panic breaths are coming out of her. She curls up in a tiny ball to feel an unrealistic sense of safety. She remembers the lullaby her mother used to sing at night when Hermione couldn't sleep because her closet didn't seem to be safe of monsters. And now, the monsters were loose around England. Hogwarts wasn't safe anymore. France would fall next. Germany would follow. Everything would be stained with that sign of a skull wrapped in snakes. When Voldemort came back, his power had increased. His madness had intensified even further. It turns out splitting a soul fills the hole with dementia.
And here she was, the brightest witch of her age, having a panic attack next to a dismembered body, and recalling her mother's voice in that lullaby. Accidentally, the words come out of her mouth. She can't stop. And finds herself mumbling the lyrics. "Where the sun shines. They are blooming. Soft as cotton. Bright as yellow. Daffodils grow in the mountain. In the place where laughter sounds. Up the mountain. Up up up. Sweet daffodils. Soft as yellow. Bright as cotton."
Hermione hasn't sleep adequately for the past two moths. At least that's how long she thinks she has been here. An hour or two at most of rest, but she never lets exhaustion overpower her. Who knows what else they could do to her in repose. She hasn't received food either. Only a slice of bread was left by the door after her last questioning. And her memory tells her that was six days ago. They also haven't taken out the corpse next to her. Maybe they are expecting her to eat it. What a sight. Hermione Granger turns cannibal. A freak show they could exhibit in Diagon Alley for sure. That weird and sick humor has been accompanying her. Hermione never thought she had it in her. But it turns out that it is her way to manage the torture that comes to her at all times of the day. Maybe every day in the morning? Evening? At night?. She doesn't know. Her prison doesn't have windows. Pitch black is all she has seen when she is alone.
The only person who has come down is Bellatrix. She would have expected Lucius or Malfoy to show up and have their fun; apparently it isn't their turn yet. Or maybe they are repulsed by her . Even more than before if that could be possible. She hasn't shower and her waste is scrambled in the floor. But she is a prisoner, and that kind of cleaning needs are her least worry. Anyways, last night torture session was interesting, to put it mildly.
She heard movement outside her door. Bellatrix entered and shot a cruciatus her way. Her favorite greeting.
"You should greet your mistress mudblood" Bellatrix hissed. "You have such horrid modals I could almost mistake you for an animal. Oh that's right! You are just a filthy animal"
"Fuck you! You are just a lunatic" Hermione spatted
"I would watch that mouth of yours, or else you may need more of my lessons" Bellatrix said. As Hermione watched her, she noticed that she was oddly happy. Maybe she killed someone today. God knows hearing agonizing screams mades her day. "And talking about your education, that is why I am here today. You have been awfully disrespectful. So I decided to deepen my learning techniques. You see I remembered a certain book that resides here in Malfoy Manor. It is most instructive but I never got to practice all the hexes and jinxes. But now that I've got you."
Perhaps the most unnerving characteristic of Bellatrix was her smile. Her curved yellowish teeth. And the way her eyes gleamed when that smile was on her face.
"Venenum ignis" As soon as the words left Bellatrix's mouth, Hermione started feeling fire in her blood. Her throat felt like closing and the sounds that ripped through were not human like. Hermione felt like a snake was slithering under her skin, biting her muscles and piercing her bones. She was sure she was convulsing. But then a numbness started from her toes to her nose; unfortunately, the pain didn't stop.
"Oh my mudblood you should see the exquisite movements your body does" Bellatrix exclaimed, In the mist of her new spell, she was jumping of joy. "Let me explain to you what is happening. It is a hex that imitates the effect of the venom from a snake in America. Extremely lethal by the way. But the twist is that at the same time the victim is experiencing the venom, a similar and more slow version of Fiendfyre works at the same time."
Through her hazy consciousness, Hermione understood the effects she was experiencing. Venom and fire were tortuous working together. The only thing she didn't understand was why she was not dead yet.
As if reading her thoughts Bellatrix answered "Dead has still not come to you because the second part of this lesson is teaching you discipline." Bellatrix was grinning even wider. "I will keep you alive, and I will test all this little book on you over and over."
"I..I...I will never...break" Hermione said through her mouth full of blood
"You will bow before me sooner than you think. You are a magic stealing leech. Look at you. Filthy and pathetic. Where is your oh so "precious" magic now? Useless mudblood." Bellatrix exclaimed. Bellatrix opened the book again"How about we continue with this book? Let's see, hexes, jinxes, blood magic, curses, poisons..."
As Bellatrix was reading aloud, Hermione suddenly put attention to a thing Bellatrix had read. Blood Magic. Blood magic did not require a wand, nor practice like non-verbal spells; blood magic had its fundamentals on the power coming from sacrifice, blood to be precise. She had once come across a book on dark history explaining this type of magic. In Grimmauld Place, the Black's library was filled with dark tomes.
Remembering last night Hermione smirks. Indeed Bellatrix's new lesson has been most instructive. Now, she just had to find a way to get her hands on that book. Blood magic shouldn't be messed with, according to the light side. But hell to goodness. What would the order think if they saw her now?. Crazy. Demential. Corrupted. The goody two shoes of Hermione Granger planning to do blood magic. Well no one was coming to rescue her. And if her soul needed to be tainted to flee this place, then so be it.
Author's Note: The lullaby that Hermione remembers was a great challenge for me to write. I hope it wasn't so bad. So far what is your opinion? Was it too much? Are you liking the story so far? Please review. As always yours.